


Estrellitas de Papel

by ofasingle_rose



Category: One Day at a Time (TV 2017)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Drug Use, Emotional Hurt, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Original Character(s), The power of friendship, im warning yall, is that a thing?, its bittersweet yall, platonic fluff, young!Schneider
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2020-01-23 19:59:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18556783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofasingle_rose/pseuds/ofasingle_rose
Summary: “What about you Pat? What would you wish for?”He thought about it for a while, but what could he say? There was an infinite amount of things he could’ve wished for. A non-addictive personality. Friends who called him for reasons other than getting free booze. A present mother. A loving father.“I wish that…” What did he wish? What could he actually get? “I wish this place had better coffee.”Eric laughed. “Yeah. Me too.”Or, Schneider's very first attempt at sobriety.





	1. Chapter One

He supposed he had it coming.

Throwing a secret birthday party while Father was out on a business trip, probably wasn’t his best idea. Drinking himself into stupor had been just straight out stupid. 

But what was he supposed to do? 

Wait a week until his father finally decided to throw him a lame ass birthday dinner? Parade him around the people he loathed, talking about how, at 17, he was finally a man? Fuck that. If he was gonna have to endure that, he would at least have some fun beforehand.

In hindsight, he should’ve probably made sure that Rosa had enough time to clean everything before Father came back. And he definitely should’ve remembered that Father had the annoying knack for ending his trips early. 

All he knew was that he woke up disoriented, surrounded by vomit, a massive headache forming between his ears. Nobody else in sight.

Then the door opened, and he suddenly remembered where he was.

Father took one look at him, glasses askew, shirt disheveled, surrounded by empty bottles and said, “Pack your goddamn things and get the fuck out of here.”

After barfing his guts out on the marble floors of Father's office, what else was there to be expected?

Open arms and understanding? Love perhaps? Very funny.

What had he ever done to deserve that love? When had he ever done anything other than be a huge disappointment? And did he really think Father would forgive such obvious disrespect?

After packing, it was a long walk towards the front door. Father kept rambling about “how dare you” and “such a bad image” and “what on earth were you thinking?”. 

Schneider didn’t hear most of it. Couldn’t. 

All he could focus on was the trembling of his legs and the pounding of his heart. How had the day turned so quickly in the opposite direction than it had started? One minute he was doing shots and making out with some random girl and the next he was being pushed out of his own home.

Father told him he didn’t want him back until he got his shit together. “You're truly nothing but an embarrassment Patrick." He threw something on the ground. Slammed the door on his face.

And then Schneider was alone. Outside in the dark and cold. Bitter wind biting at his face. A million thoughts running through his mind. Most importantly… what the fuck was he going to do?

He scrambled to see what it was that Father had thrown his direction. Hoping for a couple of dollar bills. Instead, he found a small card.

Union Recovery Center  
Vancouver, BC  
(604)-947-0420

He scoffed. Panic turning into annoyance. Rehab? Really?

Leave it to Father to kick him to the streets and pretend he cared about him under the same breath. 

And either way, Schneider wasn’t an addict. Teenagers were supposed to have fun! They were supposed to go to parties and have a few drinks here and there! They were supposed to experiment and make dumb mistakes!

Schneider wasn’t an addict, no. He was a teenager with a massive hangover and copious amounts of regret. 

And nowhere to go.

He didn’t have any friends that he could crash with.

Any girls he could convince to let him spend the night. 

Any family that would risk getting Father mad.

It was really telling by the way he was left all alone in a pool of his own vomit, that he truly had no one to rely on.

So he simply picked up his backpack and made his way towards the gates. 

Hugo, the security guard, was already there waiting for him. Making sure Schneider didn’t attempt to try and camp out on the grounds. “You really messed up this time didn’t you boy?” 

“You don't say,” he deadpanned. Not really in the mood to be mocked for his most recent fuck-up. Too tired. Too sad.

“Do you know where you’re gonna go and stay?” Hugo looked genuinely worried. Maybe he had children of his own. In the 8 years he had worked for them, Schneider had never bothered to ask.

“No idea. How about I let you know when I find a park bench? I’m sure there’ll be a pay phone somewhere.”

“Not funny.”

“Who said it was supposed to be funny?”

“You have cash with you?”

“Yup.” About 20 bucks or so. If he paced himself it could last him a good five days. And he still had his emergency credit card. He could stock up on food before Father froze his account…. if he hadn’t already. “Don’t worry about me chief, I’ll be fine.”

“You sure Pat?” Pat. Not even his father called him that for Christ’s sake. The gentle tone in Hugo’s voice nearly made Schneider cry. His throat suddenly dry.

It was just so… paternal.

And Schneider immediately felt pathetic. Was his life really so fucked up that he cried whenever someone was even remotely nice to him? 

“Yeah, I’m sure. I could just call one of my friends and crash on his couch.” He didn’t want Hugo to worry. He surely had better things to do than take care of a spoiled rich kid.

Hugo still looked skeptical but he let him go. “Call me if you need anything ok? Do you remember my number?”

“Of course.” He didn’t. “See ya around chief.”

He stepped out of the grounds, into the street.

It started snowing, and it looked oh so beautiful against the dim light of the street.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t tempted to just stand there and watch it all night.

To wait for the cold to freeze his tears so they wouldn’t have the chance to fall. To wait until the snow covered him from head to toe, turning him into the frozen statue of a lonely boy. Maybe he’d get lucky... Father would find him and shed a tear for the son he never understood. 

He shook the twisted thought out of his head. He had to seek refuge and soon. As much as it was beautiful, the snow could be deadly. And Schneider was too young to die.

So the question came up again… where the fuck could he possibly go?

He had no car. No way to call Paco, and it was getting colder and colder by the second.

He wished he had thought about bringing his snow coat. He had been too preoccupied with the notion of being kicked out that he hadn’t really paid much attention to what he had packed.

Now he was stuck outside in only jeans and a hoodie. His teeth were already chattering. 

It seemed his only option now was to walk. Every step he took was painful, his shoes wet and uncomfortable.

Was this some kind of divine punishment? As if God himself was telling him, “Go fuck yourself.”

But he supposed it was too presumptuous of him to presume God gave a damn about him, to begin with. 

He started counting his steps, to put his mind to something other than his bleak state.

One, two, three, four, five...

It did absolutely nothing to help, but he kept pushing on. 

Forty, forty-one, forty-two, forty-three...

Each passing car sent a gust of wind in his direction. Sending shivers down his spine.

Ninety-nine, one hundred… a hundred and one.

He could no longer feel his face.

By step 1946 he was just about ready to simply fall over and let natural selection do its thing. He was nowhere near shelter. The snow started coming down harder. His hoodie was getting wet from the snow. He could see the tips of his fingers turning blue.

At this pace, he could be dead by morning.

“Happy birthday to me, I guess.” His voice sounding just as bitter and rough as the wind. 

He tripped on step 2115, almost landing face-first onto the pavement. Only managing to catch himself in the nick of time, but scraping up his knees pretty badly in the process. 

Blood seeping all the way through his jeans.

He stayed there, kneeling. Staring at the ground.

And maybe it was just the craziness of it all. All the bad things piling up on top of each other. Having absolutely no break from his bad luck… so he started crying.

Honest to God sobbing on the side of the road. Punching at the ground. Screaming.

He had tried to keep it together. He honestly had. But it was just so, so much. 

Why did he have to go and make father mad? It was the one thing you would have expected him to learn by now. 

Never, NEVER, inconvenience Father in any way, shape, or form.

It was so simple. So why couldn’t he do it?

Why did he have to be such a major fuck up at every point in his life?

If he wasn’t such a disappointment as a son, none of this would have happened. 

If he’d been more obedient, more respectful… 

“FUCK!” His sobs made it difficult for him to breathe. He kept taking in the cold and it felt like his lungs were being filled with sharp needles with each breath. “FUCK!”

His hands started bleeding, cracked from the constant punching. “FUCK!”

He thought maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if he did die. It sure would be a lot better than the pain he was feeling right now. 

The bruised knees, the bleeding hands, the aching feet. 

And really… it’s not like anyone would miss him. 

If anything Father would probably be thankful to be rid of him. And mother…

Well… she had left first. So it wouldn’t be any great loss to her.

He felt raw all over. And he was so, so tired. Nobody would blame him if he decided to take a nap right there, would they?

He could do that. Take refuge in his dreams. Surely they would be much kinder to him than the rest of the day had been. 

He could let his sobs rock him to sleep like he had done many times before.

The only difference would be the absence of a warm bed and the promise of hot breakfast in the morning.

It sounded so tempting… 

At least until he noticed the red truck parked next to him.

“Jesus Christ dude! Are you okay?” somebody yelled from inside the car.

It was a guy. Not much older than him by the looks of it. Brown eyes, brown hair. Looking much warmer in a thick green coat.

Schneider couldn’t do much more than stare. Eyes red from crying. 

“Are you okay?” the guy repeated. “Do you need me to give you a ride or… call someone?”

Schneider nodded. Not really sure what to say. 

The guy was obviously very concerned. When he realized Schneider wasn’t really going to respond he stepped out of his car.

“Jesus man. What are you doing out here in the cold dressed like that?”

“I… I forgot my coat.”

“In the middle of winter? In Canada?” The guy looked incredulous. 

“My dad kicked me out. I didn’t have much time to pack.” Schneider said as a way of explaining.

Immediately the stranger’s look changed from disbelieving to pitying. His brows furrowing together in concern.

He helped Schneider get up on his feet and took a deep breath before saying, “Come on let’s go.” 

“Where are we going?” He was shaking so badly he could barely walk in a straight line.

“Somewhere warm. Come on.” He led him back to his car. 

Schneider followed obediently. Something in the deep corner of his mind telling him that this was a stranger. Why was he following a stranger? He could be after his money! Or his kidney! That was a thing right? People taking advantage of the unfortunate. Luring them in with false promises. Waking up in ice chests. 

But… what other option did he have? Either take his chances with this guy and risk the possibility that he did not have the best intentions… or refuse and die like a dog abandoned in the street. The guy seemed nice enough. Surely he wasn’t a serial killer on the lookout for young boys to kill? 

If there was a correct answer to that, he did not have the time to sit and find out what it was. He was cold. And hungry. Nice or not, this guy was offering him something he could not (would not) refuse. Shelter. Warmth.

Even the possibility that this was a scam did not sound as bad as spending one more minute outside. 

“What’s your name by the way?” The guy asked as he jumped into the driver’s seat, pulling him away from his thoughts.

He decided to roll the dice and trust him. He climbed into the other side of the car and slammed the door shut. “Patrick. My name is Patrick.”

“Well, very nice to meet you, Pat.” Pat. “My name is Eric.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took me so long to finish. but by god im gonna finish this fic if its the last thing I do.

Eric didn’t start the car right away, opting instead to ruffle through some stuff in the back. 

“We need to bring your body temperature back up,” he said. “I have some blankets here and I’m pretty sure I have some spare gloves in the front compartment. ”

“Thank you, “ Schneider’s voice was hoarse. He blamed it on the screaming, but he knew there was a high chance he would be getting a cold sometime soon. 

After grabbing the blankets, Eric turned to him. Gave him a nervous smile. “Ok I know this is going to sound weird and predatory, but I’m gonna need you to remove your shirt and hoodie.”

Schneider looked at him, eyebrows raised. “Look thank you for saving my life and all, but I usually don’t take off my shirt until the third date.”

That got a laugh out of Eric. “Trust me, that’s not why. These blankets aren’t gonna do much if you’re still wearing wet clothes. Do you have anything dry in that backpack of yours? So you can put that on instead?”

“Right!” He had completely forgotten about his backpack. “I can’t believe I forgot my coat, but I believe I have some long-sleeved shirts.”

“That’s perfect actually, it’ll give you some extra layers while your hoodie dries off.”

It felt a little awkward taking off his clothes in front of a stranger, even more so as he noticed Eric frowning at the bloodied scrapes on his knees as he changed into a different pair of jeans. He tried to not mind it too much. 

He had to admit he felt much better now that he was out of the wind’s way, and changed into a dry set of clothes. Even Eric’s scratchy old blankets felt a lot like a blessing, as they helped his shivering significantly slow down. 

“Feel better?”

“Much,” he said, looking for the pair of promised gloves. “Would you mind turning on the heat though?”

Eric looked at him apologetically. The car giving a loud purr as he turned it on. “Sorry man, Little Red’s heater is broken.”

“You gave your car a name?”

“Like you wouldn’t also, given the opportunity.” 

“Not really.” He remembered the time Father had learned he had named his favorite train set ‘Oliver’.

‘Stop being such a girl Goldie. Go outside and make some real fucking friends.’

He cleared his throat. Trying to not let his emotions show. “So where are we going?”

“Well, I was on my way to Tim Horton’s before I saw you,” Eric said, finally pulling off into the road. “And I get the feeling you could use a hot cup of joe right about now.”

Schneider wasn’t the biggest fan of coffee but he wasn’t about to complain. He didn’t really have any fight left in him. The adrenaline left his body as soon as he started to warm up, leaving him absolutely exhausted.

He rested his head on the window, feeling it was the perfect time to end the conversation. “Sounds good to me.”

They drove in silence. Neither of them willing to acknowledge the elephant in the car.

The only sound was that of the truck’s ratty engine and the howling of the wind outside.

Occasionally Schneider would start crying but Eric tastefully decided to focus on the road and ignore it. It was obvious by the way Schneider hid his face and stifled his sobs, that he didn’t really want to talk about it.

If the sound of sniffles made Eric clench the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white, well, he was just going to have to keep that to himself. 

God, he was so not ready for this. He couldn’t even figure out what he could say to make this kid feel better. And the silence felt suffocating. 

He had to say something. Anything.

“You mind if I turn on the radio?” He blurted out, not taking his eyes off the road. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Pat rub the tears out of his face with his sleeve.

“Go ahead,” he hiccuped. 

Eric shuffled through the stations for a few minutes. Not really sure what would be a good song to play with a (recently) homeless kid sobbing right next to him.

Finally settling on a song by U2, he focused on driving once more.

He mumbled along to the lyrics. Tapped his fingers on the steering wheel to try and get rid of the nervous energy coursing through his veins. 

As they pulled up into the parking lot of the restaurant, not even five songs later, Eric started to panic. He was not ready for the conversation he knew they had to have.

What could he possibly say? All the sorries and it’ll-be-okays in the world would never make Patrick feel any better. 

He knew that first-hand.

He had to figure out what to do. Hell, he didn’t even know what had happened. For all he knew he should be calling the police or social services.

He grimaced at the thought. Clenching his fingers on the steering wheel even tighter.

Fuck social services. Fuck Patrick’s dad. And as cliche as it was, fuck the police. Fuck everything about this.

Maybe he could let Pat spend the night at his apartment and figure stuff out from there. Worst came to worst he would become a father at 24.

He took the keys off the ignition and undid his seatbelt. “Alright kid, let’s go.”

Schneider kept quiet but followed him out the car nonetheless. To a distant eye, he would’ve probably looked silly. All wrapped up in blankets like a little kid. 

Anyone watching from far away wouldn’t have noticed the bloodshot eyes, the messed up hair. They wouldn’t have noticed the dried tear marks running down his cheeks. 

That’s all Eric could see. 

‘It’s like looking in a mirror’, he thought sadly. 

Neither willing to spend any more time out in the cold than was necessary, they made their way inside real quick. The smell of doughnuts and fresh coffee instantly washed over them. 

It was noticeably empty. A guy already working on mopping the floor, and a girl around his age looking bored at the register. 

Eric led Schneider to a booth, thinking it best if he just ordered for the both of them. That way he also bought himself some time to think how to best approach the situation.

The cashier looked tired. Maybe even a little annoyed about having to put on a smile for a customer so late at night. “Hi how can I help you?”

He was about to order coffee, but then found himself hesitating. Instead what came out of his mouth was, “Can I get two medium hot chocolates, please? And a dozen doughnuts.”

“Yes, sir. What kind?”

“Umm, give me four glazed, four chocolate and four jellies.”

“Will that complete your order?”

“Yes, thank you very much.”

“$13.97 will be your total.”

He took out his wallet and handed her a 20. But just as she was about to hand him back the change he had a last minute idea. “Keep it.”

She seemed confused. “You’re sure?”

“I know it’s not much but take it as a thank you for dealing with us so late.”

She still seemed unsure, but she smiled gratefully, before turning around to get his order ready. 

It didn’t take her more than 2 minutes to come back.

“Here you go, sir. Enjoy.” 

“Thank you, love, again I’m so sorry for coming in so late. I promise we’ll be out of your hair soon.”

He was playing suck up. Not his favorite thing to do, but he hoped that being nice would win him some extra time inside the restaurant.

“Oh don’t worry about it, please. That poor kid looks like he could use something to warm up right about now.”

He shot a look back at Schneider who was playing around with the little sugar packets on the table. The blanket pulled tightly over his head.

The fluorescent lights of the diner made him look a lot worse than he had in the car. 

Eric felt his heart sink. “Yeah, I agree.”

He shot her one last grateful smile and a soft “Thank you,” before grabbing his stuff and heading back towards the booth. 

He handed Schneider the red cup, which was taken without a single word. Eric looked at him expectantly. Five minutes went by, then six.

When it was clear that Schneider wasn’t going to talk, Eric cleared his throat and tried breaking the ice. 

“So,” he started. “You wanna talk about it?”

“Not particularly.”

While he might’ve seemed calm and collected on the outside, Eric was truly having a nervous breakdown. And if that was how he felt, he could only imagine what Patrick was going through. 

He reminded himself that this was important. That he couldn’t afford to lose his nerve. So he took a deep breath before continuing.

In and out. “I know you don’t know me that well and I don’t know you either, but I would like to help and I can’t really do that if you don’t tell me what happened. You said something about your dad kicking you out?”

He noticed Patrick clenching his fingers on his cup and he started worrying that maybe he pushed a little too hard and fast, but then he heard the faintest, “Yeah.”

“What happened?”

Patrick took a sip of his chocolate, frowning a little at the taste. “I fucked up. Simple as that.” 

“Okay, but how exactly?”

“My birthday was yesterday and father was out on a business trip, so I decided to throw a party. To be frank with you, I don't even remember most of it, just loud music and the bitter taste of vodka.” 

Schneider frowned at that. Like he was trying to put together a puzzle in the back of his mind. Only there weren’t many pieces, and he wasn’t exactly sure what the picture was supposed to look like in the end. 

He shrugged it off. 

“I woke up this afternoon, in my dad’s office. That place is off limits you know? And there I was hungover as hell, surrounded by empty bottles, sick all over myself.”

“Where were your friends?” Eric asked, more than a little agitated.

“In their house? Maybe? I don’t know.”

“You woke up… alone?”

“Well, yeah.” He didn’t understand why Eric would be so surprised at that. Did he miss the part where he threw up all over his dad’s marble floors?

“You woke up alone,” he repeated, appalled. “In a pool of your own vomit.”

“Yeah.” Schneider was having a hard time seeing the problem, so he simply continued, “Anyway dad arrived home two days earlier than planned and found me. Didn’t even ask any questions, just told me to get out of the house and gave me a card to a rehab clinic. Can you believe that?”

Eric didn’t know what to think. He was still trying to wrap his head around all this. It didn’t help that he had very little to go on.

A teenager with shitty friends.

A father with apparently no regard for his son. But then...

“Why a rehab clinic?”

Schneider took another sip of his chocolate. “Do you know if they have cinnamon here? Or whipped cream? This is quite underwhelming.” 

He sounded guilty. Nervous.

“Patrick,” he tried sounding stern. “Why a rehab clinic?”

“I don’t know! Okay? Father got it into his head that I’m an alcoholic. Which I mean is a little ridiculous, don’t you think? Teenagers can’t be addicts.”

He was rambling. All of the nervous energy that had been building during this conversation finally spilled over.

“So what if I enjoy drinking every once in a while? It just helps me take the edge off after a long day!” 

He tugged at the edges of his sleeves. 

“And I mean I get it! I shouldn’t have thrown a party! But I didn’t want to be all alone on my birthday! He didn’t even bother to call me to congratulate me or anything!”

Tears were running down his face freely now. 

Eric wanted to reach out, offer him comfort somehow, but he wasn’t sure Patrick would take too kindly to that.

“Come on now. It’s okay, take your time.”

“I’m not an addict.” Sobs were wracking through his body loudly enough to call the attention of the boy mopping the lobby. “I’m not.” 

“Hey.” It hurt to look at the boy like this. It was all too familiar. “It’s okay. I believe you.” 

It was something he himself had needed to hear back in those days. He wasn’t so sure it would help here, but judging by Pat’s awestruck look it had been the right thing to say.

“I believe you,” he repeated. Making sure his point got across. “But I also think you need to be careful.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know alcoholism doesn’t just affect those old men you see in the streets begging for beer money, right?”

“How do you know?”

“I’m 24 and I’ve been a recovering alcoholic for about 3 years now.”

That shut Schneider right up. Eric? Seriously? He wasn’t even that much older than him! 

“When did you…?” He didn’t have the courage to finish his question, but Eric knew exactly what he meant to ask.

“I started drinking around age 16. I had a lot of shit to deal with back then, so I turned to alcohol as my safety net. I thought exactly the same way you do right now. Alcohol couldn’t hurt me because I was young, because I was healthy… so it took me a very long time to realize that I wasn’t okay.”

Schneider could feel a knot forming in his throat. Sixteen. Eric had started drinking at sixteen. That was older than Schneider had been when he had first started drinking. 

One year, but still, what did that say about him?

“So how did you,” he gestured his hands vaguely in the air. “How did you know you had a problem?”

“It wasn’t easy. I didn’t have anybody I could talk to about it. No family, no friends. I was all alone, and I kept making stupid decisions that kept getting me in trouble. I was reckless with my drinking and ended up getting hurt because of it.” 

“Hurt how?”

“I drove my car into a ditch and ended up breaking my leg. It really put things into perspective for me, I was lucky I didn’t hurt anyone else, or that my injuries weren’t a lot worse. After recovery I decided to put myself through rehab. Alcoholics anonymous, all that jazz.”

“Oh.”

“I’m not saying you’re an alcoholic. I don’t know you that well, but if your father felt the need to give you that card then I think there might be a problem there.”

Once again Schneider was left speechless. He didn’t think he had a problem, not really, but how often had he found himself drinking himself stupid? How often did he turn to the bottle rather than turning to his friends? Surely that wasn’t normal.

“It doesn’t matter either way,” he found himself lamenting. “I’m sure that he would’ve found another reason to kick me out, even if I hadn’t thrown that party.”

“What makes you think that?”

“I’ve never been anything but a disappointment in father’s eyes. Even if he’s right, and I found a way to fix whatever is wrong with me, it would still not be enough. I would still not be enough.”

He found there were tears forming in his eyes for the hundredth time that night, but he was so tired of feeling sorry for himself, he tried to stop them from falling. “I mean, let’s say I was an alcoholic. What would be the point in fixing myself, if there isn’t anyone that I could celebrate my progress with?”

“The point!” Eric practically shouted. “Is to better yourself! Who gives a crap what your dad thinks! He’s an ass! If you’re gonna get better you have to do it because you want to, not because somebody else tells you to do it!”

“I’m not even sure I want to get better! Not if it means going back with him!”

“Who says you have to go back?”

“Where else would I go? He controls everything about my life! I can almost guarantee you he’s already called the bank to freeze my account! I have to go back, there’s no other option. Either I do what he says and go back to living under his thumb, or I don’t and I end up living in the streets for good. You saw how bad I handled my first day out. If it weren’t for you I would’ve died already!”

It sounded like they were going around in circles to Eric, who was pulling at his hair in frustration. “Look you don’t have to figure it all out right now. It’s pretty late and we’re both tired. If you want you can stay at my place tonight and we can discuss the rest in the morning, you don’t have to deal with this alone.”

“Really?” Schneider sounded hopeful. 

“Really,” Eric said. “What kind of person would I be if I just let you sleep in the streets?”

“I’m pretty sure you’d just be my father,” Schneider laughed. He took a bite out of his doughnut. Made a face, just like he had with his chocolate. “Remind me to show you where to get quality doughnuts next time we go out.”

“Come on, Timmy’s is iconic. How can you not like it?”

“I’ve actually never been here before,” Schneider shrugged.

“Never?”

Schneider’s face turned a little red. Should he tell Eric the truth? He had been the only person in his life to be nice to him without any ulterior motive.

All the people at his house had to be nice to him, they were literally paid to be. His friends only contacted him when they needed something from him, and he usually didn’t mind it, but what was stopping Eric from turning on him the minute he found out how much he was worth? 

He cleared his throat. “Let’s just say father had rather, uh, expensive taste.” 

“Right. That makes sense.”

“Yeah..”

Someone next to them cleared their throat. “Excuse me, sir?” It was the girl who had taken his order. “So sorry to bother you both, but we’re closing already.”

Eric immediately stood up and started gathering their things. “Right! So sorry love.”

Schneider was a little slower to get to his feet, his knees still sore from the fall. “Thank you for the food,” he paused to glance at her nametag, “Aimee.” 

Eric smiled at her, “Seriously. Thank you so much for letting us stay so late.”

She beamed at him. “It’s no problem. Make sure to come back soon.”

“Will do love, thank you again.” And with that they made their way back to the truck and onto the road. 

“She seemed nice,” Schneider said, off-handedly.

“She was,” Eric answered.

“And pretty.”

“A little too old for you don’t you think?”

Schneider smirked, “But not for you right?”

“Shut up,” Eric laughed. 

“So… breakfast at Timmy’s?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

They laughed all the way to Eric’s apartment.


	3. Chapter 3

“Sorry about the mess,” Eric said, hanging his keys upon the wall. “I wasn’t exactly expecting company.”

“No, no, it's fine. Thanks again for letting me stay.”

“So.” Eric looked at him expectantly. “What do you think?”

Schneider took one look around. It wasn’t a big apartment by any extension of the word.

In fact, it was quite small and cramped. Schneider couldn’t see how one person, much less two, could live comfortably with such little space, but he didn’t voice this to Eric. It wouldn’t make any sense to get kicked out for the second time that night just because he decided to be rude.

Either way, the place was kind of nice. That is- if you liked the whole mismatched furniture and bright colors sort of thing.

The main door opened straight into the living room. A faded red couch smacked right in the middle of it, with a pile of pillows in different shades of blue and a neatly folded yellow blanket on the left corner. 

Two nightstands sat on either side of it, one supported a lamp, while the other carried on it a large mason jar full of paper stars in almost every color he could think of.

He made a mental note to ask about it in the morning.

The coffee table in front of it was littered with open books and empty coffee mugs and notebooks with messy handwriting scrawled all over them. A small TV was perched on top of a wooden stand placed against the wall. 

And the walls themselves were covered almost entirely in framed movie posters. Some from films Schneider had never heard of before; The Day the Earth Stood Still, Crossfire, Capricorn One. While others were more recognizable; Ghostbusters, Star Wars, The Shining.

It was an impressive collection but strangely enough... no pictures.

Behind the couch was a round white wooden table large enough to seat at least 6 people, which was in turn surrounded by four wooden chairs in different shapes, and sizes. One blue, one red, one green, one yellow. As odd as it was, their stark differences gave Schneider a sense of unity.

They were a matched set- even if they obviously hadn’t started out that way.

The kitchen was a mess, dirty dishes overflowing the sink, but he supposed it couldn’t be helped. It’s not like Eric had a Rosa to help him around the house.

“It’s nice,” he said. “Really nice.” And he meant it.

It was messy and chaotic, and cramped, and unique. It was the exact opposite of Scheider’s own house, with its endless halls of monochromatic design and minimalist art. 

This house had character, it actually looked lived-in.

“Glad you think so buddy,” he beamed, clapping him on the shoulder. “You can sleep on the couch for now. Let me bring you some blankets.”

“Right. Thanks again.”

“Don’t even mention it,” Eric yawned. Making his way to what Schneider assumed was his room.

It didn't take long for him to come back, arms overflowing with blankets.

“Do you really think it’s gonna get that cold?”

“Yes, I do. The living room is the coldest part of the house and you’ve already experienced your share of freezing temperatures for the day.”

As if on queue, Schneider went into a fit of sneezing. 

“I’ll see if I can turn on the heater for a while, but I’ll probably have to turn it off later on in the night, so it’s better if you just cover-up.”

“Right.”

“Alright, you can help yourself to anything in the fridge, the TV is right there if you wanna watch something, just make sure to keep it down and uh, the bathroom is down the hall to the right... I don’t really know about you but I’m exhausted so um, goodnight, I guess.”

“Night.” And just like that Schneider was left alone. The truth was he was exhausted and sore and in desperate need of a nap, but once he laid down he found that he couldn’t fall asleep. 

It was a good twenty minutes of tossing and turning, going over every little thing that had happened that day until he finally gave up.

He decided to take a shower. He was filthy from his walk either way and he figured that the warm water would relax him enough to put him to bed. 

It took him a while to figure out the water valve, but once he did, he turned it to the hottest possible setting. It felt good. Glorious even. After spending most of the day out in the cold, this was exactly what he needed.

He watched as all the blood and dirt went down the drain, thankful to be rid of them.

It took all of his willpower to keep his shower short. As much as he would’ve loved to stay there until the water turned cold, he knew he couldn’t take advantage of Eric’s hospitality, so he got out as soon as he got done washing up.

He dried off quickly, changed into his warmest set of pajamas, and attempted to sleep once again. The shower seemed to have done its job, as he felt his tiredness finally catch up to his body.

‘I’m so fucking lucky,’ he found himself thinking. ‘So damn lucky.’

And he knew exactly why.

But at the same time, he knew it wouldn’t last. 

The wind howling outside reminding him of what he would have to face tomorrow if he didn’t figure out whose house to crash in next.

A chill ran down his spine despite the mountain of covers suffocating him, and it was with this scary thought in mind that he curled up into a fretful sleep.

~

Schneider poked at his omelet with curiosity. It had little pieces of ham and cheese spread throughout, but he doubted it was the Italian prosciutto and pecorino romano he was used to. It also looked flat, like it was made in a hurry.

“Why don't we go to Calico? Everyone knows they have the best crepes,” he had suggested that morning.

Eric simply shook his head in amusement and let out a small chuckle. “Good one Pat.” Like he had told a very funny joke. “I know a place if you're really hungry.”

Which is how they had ended up at Sammy’s. A quaint little diner just off the train station on the way to Eric’s job. 

He decided to try the food. If anything just to avoid looking like a snob in front of Eric, who had so kindly taken him out for breakfast.

It was hard though. The tasteless omelets and the tacky decor left much to be desired. 

Eric didn’t seem to mind it too much though since he continued talking despite Schneider’s clear lack of attention.

“So what about some ground rules huh?” Eric asked.

“For what?” Schneider frowned at him. Confused.

“Were you even listening to me?” Eric laughed, clearly a little annoyed. Schneider was beginning to think it was more of a nervous tick than an actual sign of amusement.

“Not at all actually. Come again?”

Eric rolled his eyes at him. (Like it was his fault the people at Sammy's had no taste in art. Abstract expressionism? Really?) “I was asking if you wanted to stay with me. Until you’re back on feet, I mean.”

“Stay… as in more than the one night?”

“Well yeah. But like I was saying, there would be some ground rules and probably a curfew and-”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Dude yes!”

“Alright then.” Eric smacked his hands against the table in excitement. “Do you want to go over rules then?”

“Yeah, sure.” Schneider couldn’t stop smiling. It was such a relief not having to worry about finding another place to crash.

“Ok, so first things first. Curfew is at 10. Since I have to work pretty early most days of the week and I don’t want to be worrying about where you are at 3 in the morning.”

“Right. Seems fair enough.”

“Secondly, no girls in the house. For obvious reasons.”

“Okay. Sure.”

“Third. You don’t have to get a job, but I would greatly appreciate it if you could help around the house.”

Schneider had never had to clean up after himself before, but he was so excited he didn’t even care. “You got it.”

“And lastly,” Eric hesitated. He knew there would be at least a little bit of resistance with this one, but it was the most important one. “I need you to stay sober the whole time you’re staying with me.”

“For sur- wait what?”

“I understand that it’s not gonna be easy but I feel like this would be the best for both of us.”

“So by sober, you mean…?”

“I mean...” Eric took a deep breath. Steadying himself. “I mean that you can’t have alcohol or drugs in the house or when you go out. And just to make sure, I’m gonna be testing you.”

“That seems a little extreme don’t you think?” Schneider frowned.

“It’s just a precaution.” 

“Against what?” Schneider was starting to get a little heated. Who was this guy to tell him what he couldn’t do in his free time? He had already told him he didn’t have a drinking problem, so why was he even bringing this up?

Eric pulled at his hair, getting frustrated. He was tempted to raise his voice but reminded himself that he was talking to a boy. An irrational teenager whose emotions were high due to recent traumatic events.

He had to play this smart. 

“A precaution against… myself.” Total bullshit, but he could make it work. “I am still not at a place where I can be around other people who drink.”

“Oh,” Schneider said, calming down. “Right. That makes sense.”

Eric kept pushing on. “Plus it could be great practice to show your dad that you’re not an addict! I mean… I believe you, but he doesn’t right? So this way you can prove to him that you can go a few days without alcohol.”

Schneider’s eyes went big with excitement. “Dude! That is such a good idea! I can rub it in his stupid face when I see him again!”

With an amused tilt of his head, Eric just watched as Patrick ranted on and on about his dad.

After that, their breakfast took on a much calmer demeanor. They talked about their interests...

“Dude! How on earth have you not heard Jessie’s Girl? It was on the radio like a million times!”

...shared anecdotes...

“Oh come on. You did not jump off from your friend’s roof for 20 bucks.”

“Did too. And I bought myself this very nice jacket with the prize money.”

“Did not.”

“Did too.”

“I call bullshit.”

“Call it what you want, doesn’t change the facts.”

… spilled secrets…

“So Jonah never found out about it?”

“It’s been four months and he still has no idea that’s not his dog.”

“Hahaha, Jesus. I mean at this point it kinda is.”

As they ate and talked, Eric gently folded and ripped out a strip of paper from his notebook. Then started to fold and tuck and pinch, until a small paper star was formed.

Curious, Schneider asked, “So what’s the deal with the paper stars? I forgot I meant to ask you about the jar.”

“That’s a little bit personal.”

“More personal than my entire tragic backstory?” Patrick jibed.

A beat of silence. A grimace that Schneider tried to pretend not to notice. A sigh and then...

“Maybe just as much.” Eric took a sip of his coffee. Black. No cream, no sugar. (Which had taken Schneider as a surprise, honestly, since he had pegged Eric as more of a sweet tooth.) 

“Come on, it can’t be that bad,” he insisted.

“I never said they were a bad thing. They’re just… personal.”

“Could you teach me how to make them then?” Schneider said. Trying to shy them away from the awkward that had started to settle unto their table. “If you don’t feel like talking about it?”

Eric smiled at him. “That’s a good idea actually.” He ripped another strip of paper and handed it to the younger boy, showing him where to fold. “Did you know that if you make a thousand of these you get to make a wish?”

Schneider tried not to laugh. He found it a little silly that his new friend was the superstitious type. Especially since said superstition was origami oriented. But he decided to play along. “Really? What would you wish for, then?”

Eric pretended to give this some thought. “I don’t know really. I’m barely on number 577 but I’ll let you know once I’m finished.”

“Hmm.” Something told Schneider that Eric was once again avoiding his question, but then again, it was a pretty personal thing to ask.

“What about you Pat? What would you wish for?”

He thought about it for a while, but what could he say? There was an infinite amount of things he could’ve wished for. A non-addictive personality. Friends who called him for reasons other than getting free booze. A present mother. A loving father. 

“I wish that…” What did he wish? What could he actually get? “I wish this place had better coffee.”

Eric laughed. “Yeah. Me too.”


End file.
